


What gives you wings

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Olympics RPF, Ski Jumping RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Olympics, Ski Jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: After the battle of Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort's fall, headmistress McGonagall is of the opinion that the young wizards and witches need to learn about the muggle's world and their traditions.Therefore, the students pair up in teams and go undercover as athletes at the Winter Olympics.As if that is not enough, Draco Malfoy is paired with Potter, of all people, for a sport that includes grown men jumping down a hill on planks.The universe really has to hate him.





	1. What the hell is ski jumping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brausepups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brausepups/gifts).



“Muggles,” Draco moaned, his chin propped up on the pale knuckles of his right hand while he had to fight the urge to just bang his head against his desk in McGonagall’s class room.  
“Is there any problem, Mister Malfoy?” the headmistress asked and shot him a firm glance, looking down on him through her glasses.  
Draco bit back a comment on how all of this ridiculous bullshit would not be happening if his father still had some power on Hogwart’s policy and spat out a “No, professor.”  
“Indeed,” McGonagall said in a stern voice and strolled back to her board, where she continued with her explanation of their newest project.  
“This whole subject is a farce,” Draco whispered and was glad when Pansy nodded approvingly.  
At least one person hadn’t lost their minds over the events of the war.  
  
Fine, he was willing to admit that the battle had _indeed_ changed Hogwarts and the wizarding world forever, and Draco himself was no exception, but this class – and Draco had had to live through years with Slughorn as a teacher – was the most pathetic thing in the history of their school.  
_Studies of human nature_ the headmistress had called this new subject when she had introduced it to Hogwart’s staff and students on the first day of his eighth year – as if the fact that he would have to spend another year with all those imbeciles had not been enough.  
A new subject to strengthen the bond between the wizarding world and the muggles, to raise awareness and respect for a life without magic.  
Ludicrous.  
  
All they actually did was listening to muggle-borns and their experiences or exploring the hideous depths of _pop-music_.  
And while Draco had thought Hermione Granger was a know-it-all in each class, her excitement for the _Studies of human_ _nature_ gave him headaches.  
“The Olympic Games,” McGonagall continued as if this wasn’t dreadful joke, “are the leading international sports event with thousands of athletes participating.”  
“If it’s not about Quidditch then who cares?” Draco whispered and Granger, who was shitting right in front of him right next to the saviour himself, turned around with a murdering stare on her face.  
“The Olympics are furthermore a great example of nations and people coming together, celebrating their similarities as well as their differences. And since you are all adults now,” Draco thought he could feel her gaze lingering on him for a few moments, “we, as the teachers, have decided that we want to give you the opportunity to be a part of that.”  
“What?!” Draco asked before he could stop himself.  
He didn’t want to be part of a muggle event. He didn’t want to be part of anything outside the walls of the castle, especially not if it was _muggle_.  
“It’s February anyway. It’s too cold for a sport event.”  
“Winter Olympics, you dumbass,” the Weasel groaned and Draco’s jaw fell open.  
  
Muggles _and_ winter?  
He had to be caught in a nightmare. Yeah. That had to be it.  
McGonagall simply continued as if Draco wasn’t suffering an existential crisis over there.  
“You will pair up in teams and each pair will draw a sport,” she raised a caldron that had pieces of paper in it, “consider it as an undercover mission. As athletes.”  
Draco was taken aback when he realized that some of the students were actually excited about this thing.  
_Stupid Hufflepuffs and even stupider Gryffindors._

“Mister Finnigan, Mister Thomas? Please come to the front.”  
The first pair got up and Draco suddenly felt sick.  
Seamus reached into the caldron and unfolded the piece of paper.  
“Snowboarding!” he exclaimed with excitement and Dean looked equally pleased.  
Blaise and Pansy were the next pair and Draco would have laughed at his friend’s face when he read out “biathlon” – if he wasn’t equally clueless about that sport and grew more and more nervous about his own draw.  
Maybe he could pretend to be ill?

McGonagall noticed the lack of knowledge as well and pulled a sympathetic face.  
“We have prepared information about each kind of sport for everyone. It is highly necessary – and not to forget expected – that each pair reads all of it to make their background story believable for the real athletes.”  
“How is that supposed to work out anyway?” Granger asked, doubt but also interest written all over her face, “most of us have never tried out the sport we’ll draw. And we’re far from competing at an Olympic level. And won’t the real athletes realize that they have never seen us before?”  
“Good question, Miss Granger. But it does have its advantages to be a witch, doesn’t it? We took care of everything. There is absolutely nothing to be worried about.”  
Was the headmistress winking?  
Sweet Merlin, this was going to be the worst day of Draco’s life.

Granger and Weasel were the next pair to get up and ice hockey it would be.  
“I can do that!” Weasley exclaimed and Granger smiled equally pleased, if only a little worried.  
“Well, well. Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy, come here.”  
Wait.  
No.  
_WHAT_?  
The golden boy turned around right in time with Draco’s knee hitting his desk due to jumping in shock, staring at him with terror written all over his face.  
“Professor, I don’t think that’s-…” Potter started, his voice shaking, but McGonagall shut him up with a firm glance.  
“Feel free to refuse, both of you. But be aware that it means you’re failing this class with a _poor_ , then.”  
Draco was well aware of that and it wasn’t an option. To get into the best potion academy of the continent, he needed to be graded _outstanding_ in all of his classes.  
He assumed it was similar with Potter and his desire to die in the hands of the Ministry as an auror.  
He let out a groan.  
Eventually, it was Potter who got up first and Draco followed slowly.  
It almost hurt him physically to wait until he had unfolded the paper, suppressing the urge to lean closer to Potter in order to read it before he boy who lived and lived again would read it out loud.  
“Ski jumping.”  
“Ski jumping? What the hell is ski jumping?”  


Draco found out a couple of minutes later, after he had grabbed the parchment that contained all the information they would need on their mission and had disappeared into the library, Potter following him in a respectful distance.  
Potter slipped onto the spare chair next to his, while Draco stared at the little sketch someone with very poor skills had drawn next to the text.  
“This has to be a joke,” he mumbled, ignoring Potter who leaned closer to give it a look himself.  
“Looks… fun, don’t you think?” the Gryffindor eventually said and Draco let out a sneer.  
“I’m not talking to you.”  
Potter leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
“You will have to, eventually.”  
“I don’t think so, _Potter_.”  
The boy let out a chuckle, “See, you’re already doing it.”  
“Whatever! Aren’t you worried about this? It is ridiculous. Grown men riding down a hill on planks faster than a Nimbus until they reach the edge and – what? Jump? What kind of sport is that? Sounds like a hara-kiri mission to me.”  
Potter let out a sigh, “Didn’t you ever wish you could fly? This might feel close.”  
Draco gaped at him.  
“Potter, you do realize that you spend most of your time on a fucking broomstick, don’t you?”  
The other boy rolled his eyes and lifted an eyebrow, “All I’m saying is-…”  
“I really don’t care, okay? Let he have my moment.”  
Potter opened his mouth as if he wanted to shoot back but decided against it, eventually. He got up from his chair and grabbed his own parchments, leaving Draco behind with his terror.  
“See you tomorrow, Malfoy. And don’t forget to pack warm underwear; I heard it’s freezing in South Korea.”  
_South Korea?_

It had not been a dream, Draco had not been hallucinating with fever and Madam Pomfrey had kicked him out of the hospital wing faster than one could even say “pneumonia”.  
Which was exactly why he was standing next to Potter in front of the large fireplace in McGonagall’s office, with a small bag that contained his most important properties in one hand and his wand in the other.  
Potter, on the contrary, carried a bag that was almost as large as himself and wore a jacket that was so big one had trouble spotting his head in between the fluff.  
If the muggles had any sense for fashion – and Draco doubted that, but still – they would surely appreciate his dark coat that almost covered his knees, with emerald ornamentation garnishing its high collar.  
  
They were the last pair to leave and Draco just wanted to get over with it now, grabbing a handful of floo powder and stepping into the fireplace.  
He crinkled his nose when he realized that his coat got dirty in the process and only made some space for Potter with a groan.  
“One…” the Gryffindor started to count, “two… three…”  
“Pyeongchang!” they managed to say at the same time, dropping the powder and Draco could only pray that their pronunciation had been good enough when he already felt cool flames consuming his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up today with the best idea I've had in ages: why not combine two of my favourite things in one?  
> And while this story will feature my favourite people on earth - especially the Norwegian boys - I will focus on Draco and Harry and their relationship. 
> 
> It would mean the world to me if you told me what you think and if you want me to continue this story, with the real Winter Olympics coming up.  
> Kusos, proposals, inspirations and ideas are always welcome!  
> 


	2. King Kamil

The cold came first.  
Creeping through the fabric of his dark trousers, sliding up his back and sinking into his bones.  
Then, when Draco blinked a few times, he saw that he and Potter found themselves in a bedroom.  
Two single beds, one at each side of the room, a small fireplace in between two windows – which were wide open and explained the icy cold, thank you very much.  
There was a door in his back and another one at the end of the left bed, leading to the assumption that – at least – they would not have to share a bathroom with other athletes.  
As if having to share anything at all with Potter, of all people, was any better, Draco thought.  
However, that could soothe Draco’s bewilderment only partly: this room was tiny.  
Tinier than tiny.  
At Malfoy’s manor, not even house elves would have to live like this.  
Right when Draco was about to comment on that, Potter let out a joyful noise and jumped onto the right bed, dropping all of his stuff in the process.  
“Dips!” he exclaimed cheerfully and kicked the window at the head of his bed shut in a swift motion, his dark locks falling into his face.  
Draco refused to show any kind of reaction to that childish behaviour and settled down on his own bed, feeling somehow lost at this place (which he had no idea what it was, actually).  
As if Potter had read the confusion on his face, the golden boy sat up with his back resting against the wall.  
“It’s the athletes village,” Potter explained, his voice low, testing the waters.  
“Right,” Draco said and closed his window.  
They fell silent for a while, each of them sorting their stuff into the closets and drawers and when Potter got rid of that ridiculously big jacket, Draco could see that he wore a red and yellow shirt underneath.  
Eventually, Potter shuffled through the parchments McGonagall had given them, checking the time at the alarm clocks that were standing on their bedside tables.  
Draco bit back a groan of frustration.  
He had known that being paired up with Potter would be awkward.  
When they had come back for their eighth school year, neither of them had been keen on continuing their rivalry where it had left off and Draco had felt a mutual agreement to just completely ignore each other for the rest of their lives at Hogwarts.  
Which had not been hard, exactly, given that the majority of students in his year didn’t even look at him anymore since he had decided to finish school at Hogwarts and not in France, as his mother had suggested.  
They hadn’t talked about the battle and Draco’s role in all of it – and he sure as hell would not start now.  
But there was a tension crackling the air between the two of them that had not been there all these years before.  
And Draco could not help wondering what Potter saw when he looked at him.  
Was it Lupin? Or the Weasley twin? Or all the other people that had let their lives in the war?  
It was still a mystery to him what had driven the boy who lived to testify on his and his mother’s behalf in their trial but his mother had told him to let it slip, so that was what he had done.  
But he couldn’t stop wondering if Potter expected something in return, now. If one day, he would call in a favour and Draco would have to obey because he owned him?

He was snatched out of his thoughts when he realized that Potter had said something.  
“What?”  
Potter gave him a look that Draco didn’t know how to read.  
“I said that we have to go. We missed the opening ceremony but there is another event set for the evening. Ski jumpers and their teams only.”  
Draco frowned, “How do you know that?”  
Potter shot him an odd glance, “You haven’t read the sheets Professor McGonagall gave to us?”  
The horror was written all over his face and Draco squinted his eyes.  
What if he hadn’t?  
“That’s…” Potter didn’t finish his sentence but Draco was sure that _unbelievable_ was what he had been angling for.  
“Okay, listen. People might ask you questions about yourself. We’re the new talents from Great Britain, remember?”  
Potter let out a groan of frustration when Draco blinked at him, unsure what to say.  
“I actually can’t believe this, Malfoy. There was this one job. One job! To make your background story believable. McGonagall has charmed the teams to believe that we qualified for the Olympics through national trials but they’re not under the Imperius Curse!”  
“Fine,” Draco said through gritted teeth, taking in the sight of Potter angrily running his fingers through his dark curls, “fill me in.”  
“People might ask you about your role models. I assume that you can’t even answer that question, since you haven’t done your homework.”  
Draco squinted his eyes.  
Role models? He had developed a natural aversion against that term since… since the Dark Lord’s fall.  
“ _Merlin_ ,” Potter groaned and shook his head in disbelief, “just remember the names Sven Hannawald and Adam Małysz. And if someone mentions Noriaki Kasai, you pull an impressed face. Are we clear?”  
“Clear,” Draco stated, even though each and every fibre of his body was on edge, not quite believing that he was actually taking advice from the boy who lived and lived again.  
He must have lost his mind.  
The fact that a quote from one of the pathetic pop songs McGonagall had forced them endure popped up in his mind didn’t really help.  
_I searched all day, it drove me insane. Where would I be if I was my brain?_

As Potter had explained to him on their way to what Draco would call the “Great Hall” of their multi-storey building, the parchment had contained a strict time schedule for them and the dining hall was already filled with chattering and soft music when they arrived.  
When the golden boy had said it was an event for the ski jumping circus only, Draco would not have expected to find these many people in the room.  
Moreover, he would have thought that the different nations would stay for themselves, just like the different houses in the Great Hall, but the diverse outfits and accents that filled the room made clear that everyone had mixed up.  
“Come on,” Potter mumbled when Draco froze on the spot and he followed the Gryffindor slowly into the room.  
Several heads turned their direction and curious glances where cast upon them and Draco instinctively reached for his wand in his pocket until he remembered that he had left it in their room, for safety reasons.  
He jumped, when a smooth voice approached them from behind, “You must be Harry and Draco!”  
Turning around, Draco found himself face to face with a man that was probably just a couple of years older than they were, with blond hair that fell into his face and greenish eyes meeting his gaze.  
A smile was tugging on the corners of the boys lips and he reached out a hand.  
Potter took it with a grin and nodded.  
“Yes, I’m Harry Potter and that’s Draco Malfoy. We’re from England.”  
“Ah yes,” the blond man said with an accent that Draco could not identify immediately. Maybe something Scandinavian? Or Dutch?  
“The rookies from Britain.”  
He smiled apologetically when he realized that he hadn’t introduced himself yet.  
“I’m Daniel-André Tande, from Norway. But Danny is just fine as well.”  
“We’re happy to meet you, Danny,” Potter said and his elbow hit Draco right in the ribs.  
“Oh, don’t worry,” the Norwegian jumper whispered and grinned, “it’s only natural to be a little overwhelmed by the Olympic impression. It will get easier.”  
He eyed Draco sympathetically and Draco would have let out a snort, if he didn’t feel Potter’s intense gaze on himself.  
“So it’s not your first time at the Olympic Games?” Potter asked with real interest in his tone and Draco had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.  
Was Potter really trying to make friends here?  
Wasn’t this supposed to be a competition?  
“Why don’t you come with me?” the Norwegian pointed at a table in the back of the room, where some other jumpers and men that were probably coaches were sitting, “I’ll introduce you to the guys. Everyone is so excited to meet you! It’s been ages since Britain has had any good jumpers.”  
Draco raised his eyebrows but Potter was already following Tande.  
Whilst McGonagall had said that they shouldn’t worry about their abilities, there was no way that Draco would jump down that hill.  
To hell with his magic, he was too young to die.  
  
“Everyone listen!” Daniel declared when they had reached the table, all heads turning their direction.  
“These are Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”  
Draco awkwardly slipped onto a chair next to Potter, who was seated to Daniel-André Tande’s right.  
There were about 8 other athletes gathered around the table, plus 3 men that were either coaches or their parents.  
Potter cleared his voice and a blush spread on his cheekbones, apparently not liking the attention that much.  
“Ehm…” he started and everyone eyed him curiously, “it’s great to finally meet you.”  
“That’s what the Olympics are all about,” a jumper with a heavy East-European accent said, nodding confirming and introducing himself as Peter Prevc from Slovenia.  
“I thought it’s about the medals,” Draco mumbled under his breath, too low for anyone to hear but a short guy to his right, with a red face and grey eyes let out a chuckle, clearly thinking Draco had made a joke.  
“It’s probably the easiest if I introduce y’all,” Daniel explained and pointed at the red-faced jumper next to Draco that reminded the Slytherin of a duckling.  
“That’s Anders Fannemel. But everyone calls him Fanni, anyway.”  
“Hey,” Fanni said and smiled at Draco, the little flag stitched onto his jacket telling him the short jumper was one of Daniel-André Tande’s team mates, as were most of the jumpers around the table.  
He returned the smile hesitantly.  
There was a tall jumper named Andreas, another one called Johann-André Forfang that was apparently into muggle photography, given that he wore a camera around his neck and a few more whose names Draco forgot immediately.  
“So tell us,” the short ski jumper Anders began, “do you have any role models?”  
_Muggles_ , Draco thought, so _predictable._  
He found himself shooting Potter an insecure gaze anyway and was a little surprised when the look on the golden boy’s face wasn’t annoyed, but rather encouraging.  
When his mouth opened but no words came out, Potter gave him a look that said _I got this_ and started first.  
“Sure, Fanni. I have always admired Sven Hannawald.”  
Anders nodded and grinned, “His four wins in four competitions at the 4 Hills tournament surely are impressive.”  
From the smile Potter gave the Norwegian, Draco was sure that he had absolutely no idea what Anders was talking about but he just played along.  
The fact that Potter was struggling with their _undercover mission_ as well eventually gave him the courage to speak up.  
“My role model is Adam Małysz.”  
“Whose isn’t?” Daniel asked and gave Draco one of his wide smiles, “wait until you’ll meet the Polish jumpers. They worship Adam.”  
A chair was scratching over the wooden floor and another jumper’s face popped up.  
“I heard you’re talking about Adam?”  
“See?” Fanni asked with a grin and greeted the other jumper with a fist bump.  
“Kamil, that’s Draco and Harry, from England. Draco and Harry, that’s Kamil Stoch. Or King Kamil, as the Poles call him.”  
Draco eyed the Polish ski jumper closely.  
He was older than most of the Norwegian guys, probably somewhat around thirty.  
He had an angular face and strong cheekbones, but friendly brown eyes that showed that he was clearly embarrassed by the praisement Daniel had just given him.  
“Come on, Kamil. You’re more popular than the Polish president. You’ve just won the 4 Hills for the second time and everyone knows that they’ll probably build you a whole palace if you come back with a gold medal.”  
Kamil let out a huff of air and shook his head.  
“Maybe the youngsters from Britain will have a talk in that as well, no?”  
Draco couldn’t help letting out a laugh and he felt Potter’s hand coming to rest on his thigh, making his skin feel as if he had burned himself.  
Apparently, no one had witnessed the scenario or no one cared.  
“I think _Danny_ is the one who’ll make your life hell, don’t you think?” Fanni said with a grin on his face and Daniel let out a chuckle.  
Kamil, on the other hand, shrugged his shoulders.  
“Maybe. I think everyone’s on a great level at the moment.”  
_Great_ , Draco thought.  
From what he had just seen, these jumpers were rather friends, not opponents, even though they were from different countries, competing against each other for Olympic medals.  
How for Merlin’s sake were he and Potter supposed to fit into that, when they could not be any farer away from that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is such fun to write this story and I didn't realize how much I've actually missed writing about Draco and Harry. 
> 
> I'm struglling a little with the fact that many of you probably don't know the ski jumpers (yet) and I'll try my best to portray them in a way that gives you a good impression of their personalities, without bringing in too much at once. 
> 
> What do you think of this chapter? :)


End file.
